


You Still Know of Dawn, But You Always Return

by Thesuncameouttoday



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Angst, Basically a reasoning for matt's (fine) ass still being alive, During/After Defenders episode 8, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Like heavy angst to the point that you'll want to jump into that hole from the show, Pre-Daredevil Season 3, Result of my need for justice for THE BEST MARVEL CHARACTER EVER (Elektra)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuncameouttoday/pseuds/Thesuncameouttoday
Summary: First comes the pain, as if every part of her body was individually hit by a speeding bus. She cranes her neck, letting out a cry as she tries deciphering if her arms and legs remain intact. Her red clothes tear around boulders pressed against her flesh, the colour of her skin ivory and blue.  She lets out a haggard exhale of relief, spit splattering onto the rocks near her face as she wheezes. Then comes the memories, quickly and with searing agony.Matthew.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Elektra Natchios, Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	You Still Know of Dawn, But You Always Return

**Author's Note:**

> Beware, angst is coming your way.

When the dusty and chalked air fills her lungs she gasps, her body almost levitating as she jolts up. But she can’t, she realizes after her second breath. The boulder digs right into her chest cavity, she can tell it’s almost reached the inner parts of her skin tissue but somehow hasn’t managed to pierce through actual flesh. 

Elektra peels her eyes open, blinking furiously as the debris swimming in the air around tries to sink into her sockets, all she can see through her hazy vision is one line of orange light piercing through layers upon layers of rocks around her. She follows the thin speck of fire-like illumination, trying to gather her surroundings till her memory and pain inks its way back into her suddenly and powerfully. 

First comes the pain, as if every part of her body was individually hit by a speeding bus. She cranes her neck, letting out a cry as she tries deciphering if her arms and legs remain intact. Her red clothes tear around boulders pressed against her flesh, the colour of her skin ivory and blue. She lets out a haggard exhale of relief, spit splattering onto the rocks near her face as she wheezes. Then comes the memories, quickly and with searing agony. 

Matthew. 

Once she hears the name in her head she’s screaming it into the rocks, into the hollow gaps between boulders and crushed concrete. “MATTHEW!” she cries out, then wails out, half out of physical pain and half out of sheer fear. 

Her lungs expand as she roars his name over and over again, twisting her head the little that she can to snatch a glimpse of him, somewhere and breathing till her parched throat feels raw and seared. 

“Matthew,” she sobs, letting her head limp. Red. 

She sees the dark mahogany splashed against a crushed white wall. “Matthew,” she screams, wiggling her fingers, jolting her body against the crushing rocks as her entire body spasms with throbs. He’s so far she realizes with pure anger, gazing at his still body. How could that happen? Her palms had clasped around his shoulder and neck as the rocks fell, his lips seared onto hers. 

A tear spills down her cheek and plops loudly onto a rock as she bellows in regret. What was she thinking, what had she done? She turns her shaking head, praying to whomever was above that they kept just enough life in him to let him live. 

“Matthew cares and devotes himself to you,” she screams, rages, into the dust, “you better fucking keep him alive in return. You better!” 

The thrumming pain slowly begins to dull as across her body as the burn in her throat crawls its way down her lungs and into her heart. They can’t keep her alive and not him. It’s too cruel. No, she refuses to live in a world without him in it. Heaven and Hell can try their best. 

She inhales the smoke and sharp dust, chest widening as she gathers all her shaking energy, all her strength, all that’s left of her, and roars, and roars and roars as she pushes up and up and up. She can feel the rocks slice into her arms and thighs, but she can suddenly see the purple sky above. It gets nearer and nearer, and her bellows vibrate the rocks around her, almost masking the blistering agony her entire body pulsates with. It’s so close, so near, and suddenly she feels the cool dawn air on her bloodied hand, and then the other as she slams them onto the lumpy and jagged ground. She roars his name one last time, one last bellow and she trembling and crimson arms pull her up and up until she is bent over backwards on the chalky and still warm floor of debris, vomiting through her entire body onto the wreckage. But she doesn’t care, she doesn’t blink, barely wiping her throat before she’s limply crawling on all fours, till she gages the spot where he is lying underneath. 

“Matthew,” she moans, delirious, the energy that had exploded through her body mere seconds ago drained, leaving behind an aching and pulsating series of waves through her. She wheezes, weakly digging her fingers in the gaps of rocks till the shoot across the ground. They’re numb within minutes, most likely from blood loss or perhaps her body shutting down from the amount of agony it feels. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t. If she has to break her body to find him she will. If her blood has to spill all out of her to save him, she will let it, she doesn’t care. 

Blinking deliriously, she groans as she drags herself closer to the hole she’s dug, her arms turning black as they swim below ground level, nails scraping and peeling bloody against rocks. The rumble is so much of crushed walls that her limp arms feel at times that they are swimming through a thick powder. So, when she suddenly feels his soft hair against her dripping and bloody hands she lets out a wail. 

“Matthew,” she screams, pulling his hair like a rag doll within her fist, hoping it’ll jolt him awake. She wails, realizing she’s going to have to pull him out herself, slamming her head stupidly into the ground as she gasps in dirty air. 

Heaven and Hell can try their best.

Elektra closes her eyes for a split moment, rolling onto her back, imagining good things, anything good to dull the pain. A bed, the hot sun on her skin, cold water. The smell of Matthew’s pillow. Warm, piping hot food. The once smooth surface of his arms and chest that she’d caress all day long. That black cat that would sneak food from her apartment every day. The feeling of his deep inhales and exhales against the nape of her neck. The feeling of forcing her chest to sync with his breathing, the warmth she felt breathing in the same air as him in early mornings. The shape of his lips when he’d grin wickedly at something she said. God, he was so pretty. She wishes he could see just how beautiful he is. 

_I want to be able to describe it to him_. It’s enough motivation for her to roll back around, the ground underneath her sopping wet with her pooling blood as she swings her arms into the hole. Ignore the pain, ignore the ache, ignore the exhaustion, she chants as she manages to push the rocks around his stiff arms far enough away. 

“Matthew,” she exhales once before clenching her jaw, the hands hooked underneath his pits burning with pain as she pulls him up through cries. “Come on!” she screams, sweeping onto her knees as she pulls and pulls watching his shoulders, torso, and legs peel out of the inky darkness until he’s fallen on top of her with a _thump_. She barely recovers before she’s as gently as possible pushing him off of her on his back, Elektra crawling till she cages his body with her knees and arms. 

Swallowing fearfully, she drops her head onto his shredded chest, his suit, flesh, and blood all mixed and splattered across his body, pressing her palms on his shoulders and ear onto his left breast. “Come on,” she hiccups, “please, please, please.” 

The squelch of her ear pressing against sopping and bloodied clothes doesn’t stop her from hearing that beautiful but faint thrum of his beating heart. She lets out a loud and relieved whimper, suddenly so weak that she collapses on top of him, ear still pushed against his chest. 

_Thump, thump, thump_. God, she never knew how surreal the sound of a beating heart could be. She could fall asleep to that sound, she used to anyways. “Matthew,” she mumbles against him, “you owe me ten-fold for this. Remember that. I will.” Her delirious giggles simmer, and the world darkens. 

~

She gasps awake, the state of consciousness bringing with it the shooting pains up her arms and legs, though they are somehow more bearable now. Elektra winces as she weakly lifts her arms into her line of vision, they look like nails had been dragged in lines down her flesh. As it thumps onto the ground she cranes her head up, blinking rapidly at the still reddish-purple sky. How long had she been out? 

She snaps her head up suddenly, thinking that perhaps enough time had passed that his brown eyes were open but her heart sinks as she realizes they are still pressed shut. She must’ve only been out for 30 minutes or so then. 

Elektra doesn’t think she ever remembers a time she’s ever felt this tired in her life, though granted, she can’t remember most of her (past) life. It almost feels like a drug was injected into her, the speed of her body not matching the speed of her eyesight as it takes in its surroundings with the more prominent light. There were still clouds of debris pooling up into the sky but no fires, she noticed. It was just dust and wreckage. 

But at least the sky looks beautiful. She wishes he could see the beauty of the grounds above, 

“Matthew,” she murmurs, rolling off him, “I wish you could watch this sunrise with me.” The swaths of debris barely taints the beautiful colours, only once in a while blotting it with greys and blacks. “It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.” 

At his silence she suddenly gets impatient. It’s unreasonable and so sudden that she doesn’t even know what she’s doing before she’s suddenly rolled to his side, shoving him violently. “C’mon Matthew, wake up. I did something good! I want to gloat to you.” Still stiff. “Matthew,” she groans, lugging her head onto his wet and cold shoulder, “If you wake up right now, we can perhaps catch one of those early flights to London or Paris.” Elektra’s lips crack into a smile. “I think you’d love Paris. There’s so much life, a story in every corner of every street.” Her hand not wrapped around his arm drags its way down to his hand, her thumb rubbing against his pulpy knuckles. “Hm, I think you’d love the music. They play jazz everywhere.” 

“Oh!” she tugs his hand, “and, there are so many lights at night, Matthew. It’s like the city never goes to sleep, always so bright and alive.” 

For some reason the image reminds her of something he’d said months ago, as he pressed a towel into her bloodied arm, a small but sad smile on his face. “I love New York because it’s alive,” his other hand had caressed her bare legs, causing goosebumps on contact. “It’s not just a place, Elektra, it-it’s a living, breathing person. With so many stories and tales. A restless and adventurous soul.” 

Elektra frowns suddenly into his shoulder. “Would you even like leaving this city?” She feathers a finger to his wrist, circling the little bump of bone there. “Hm, I don’t think so.” 

She forces a smile, tightening her wrap on his arm. “We could always buy a gorgeous flat deep in the city, right in the epicenter. It-it will be like we’re in the lungs of it all, you know?” the frown pulls its way back onto her face, realization coming back. “No, but you love your community. You love Hell’s Kitchen. I wouldn’t want to take that from you.”

It’s not that big of a deal, really. She’s become so equipped at adapting to new places, it’ll probably be a breeze living in that LED-lit apartment eventually. 

“I could get a job,” she suggests. “I don’t-” she chuckles, but only slightly because it pains her chest, “I don’t know what office would hire me for my current set of skills- but you never know right?” 

“And, and, oh Matthew- we can go on dinner dates with your friends! What are their names again? Froggy and Karen? Hm…” she sighs, “something like that.” Her tongue wets her chapped lips, making her cringe as she tastes salt, dust, and powdery walls. 

“I hope they’ll like me. I know they mean so much to you.” She clicks her tongue. “I did contemplate killing Karen once…but she doesn’t have to know that.” 

“Oh, and I can invest in your firm! You and your Froggy friend can go back to doing pro bono work for the rest of your lives if you want.” 

Elektra lifts his arm, wedging her head in, letting it rest right on his breast. “What if I don’t get hired anywhere? What would I do all day?” she laughs, “God, I-I don’t even know how to do nothing. Do you just watch TV? Binge on food?” she bites her raw lip, “Maybe…maybe I could go back to my line of work, you know?” she quickly adds, “But on the right side this time. I want to do good this time, for you.” 

It’s like venom, the memory. She wishes she could extract it from her mind with two long fingers and swat it across New York. But she’d foolishly let it play because of how warm it started. 

With her in his bed, holding his hand, barely breathing as he told her that he wanted a future with her. That things could be different this time. God, the hope on his beautiful face. She still couldn’t tell if that was from his Gods or just his conviction. Either way it was enough for her, it was enough to make her want to never see an open wound again, never hold a weapon in her hands again. The thought of watching life die out of someone's eyes suddenly had disgusted her. If Matthew could see that much light in her without ever seeing her physically, perhaps if she just gave it some effort it could work. She could be good. She could open her heart back up and become a whole person. If he thought she could, Elektra knew she could. He knew, after all. More than anyone. He knew her to her marrow. 

But then she lifted that blade off his kitchen counter, heart suddenly pounding. She begged herself to believe it was with fear for his life, but she knew even then, deep down, that really it was because of that guttural thrill she felt as she peeled that boy’s neck open, the crimson painting both and Matthew’s face like the most beautiful art she’d ever witnessed. Even as she looked right into his brown orbs, relief seeping over her being at the sight of him alive and with a beating heart, she couldn’t even bother feeling anything at the horror creasing his face. The satisfaction that set right into her spine was so deeply pleasurable. 

Even when it dulled to just a sweet thrum as she let the knife drop and held his alarmed face in her palm, she knew nothing, not even him, her lover, her light, could ever make her feel that feeling. That quench of thirst, like cool water sploshing down a parched throat. 

Elektra stiffened at his side in a trice, pain like no other reverberating softly and then violently through her. She closes her watery eyes, feeling cold tears roll down her sooty face. The sting taking shelter in her throat once again, so powerfully, that she trembles with a sob. 

The understanding is like a stab right into her vessels, like blood painfully crystallization at the spot. _No_ , she weeps weakly, _please no_. 

But there’s no erasing it from her mind once the notion holds a seat within, galvanizing into her thoughts, into her soul. _I’d rather die alone than pull him to my side and let him succumb to it_. 

When she thinks of him, when she thinks about her Matthew, all she can imagine is this light. This bright, ethereal, and warm glow of a luminescent. She thinks about the zeal in his every exhale, this…burst of gratitude for his own life and others that she has never felt other than by his side. She thinks about the grief in his voice when he witnesses a life lost, as if he himself is dying. No matter how hard she tries, Elektra realizes with devastation, that she’s never even once felt that. 

She never wants that glow to leave his eyes and soul, never. She would kill everyone if it meant preserving that part of him, preventing it from ever getting wounded or tainted. And she would die before she caused that herself, too. 

Elektra lifts her weak arms till she feels her body pressed against his so she can wrap her arms around him. She pushes her nose into his neck, wedging her face into that crook, inhaling deeply. How she wished a scent could be tattooed onto her body. So, then she could feel his presence with her everywhere she went. To feel that instant warmth. 

She doesn’t realize how long she’s breathing him in until she sees the tears and blood pool in the hollow of his long neck. “Why do you make me cry, Matthew?” she croaks, pressing a kiss onto his stubbled cheek. 

“I miss your smooth skin,” she hiccups, thumbing his jaw, swimming tears impairing the beauty in front of her. “I miss that way you’d brush your hair. Just…plopping it all onto your forehead,” she laughs through a sob. “I wish I’d taken you in my car that night and flew us off somewhere, anywhere. I wish I had had the courage to find you the next morning and tell you the truth.” she sniffles, “Maybe…just maybe, I could have been at your side all these years then.”

Her lips wobble, wet from snot and tears as she hungrily takes his resting face, so peaceful. The compulsion takes over and she captures his lips with hers swiftly and suddenly. If she was delirious enough she could imagine him kissing her back, his tongue tasting her mouth as his hands run down her skin. 

Trembling hands rest on his chest as she holds back the sob waiting to crack open, biting her lip harshly. She takes his face in, every corner and crevasse and line and scar and bruise. Wiping her thumb haphazardly against her clothes she brought it up slowly, tracing his lips with a weep. 

“I love you Matt Murdock,” she sobs, “And always, always remember this okay?” she jabs a finger into his chest as if he’s awake, looking at him expectedly, “There is only you, only you.”

Elektra rolls out of his arm, trembling as she limps her way up onto her feet, his smell already erasing from her memory. She walks, not a glance back. 

**Author's Note:**

> *sighs* What can I say.......I watched both daredevil and the defenders (willingly and voluntarily) while FULLY knowing that Elektra isn't in season 3 meaning her and consequently her story with Matt, would end on episode 8. And yet, I somehow still was filled in my every vein with extreme red hot anger and grief when her last scene happened and I realized that was it for her.  
> This was written, and i'm not exaggerating, completely with my eyes swimming with tears and a deeply sad song (Persephone by Tamino) playing while i sobbed at 1 AM, exactly fourty minutes after I watch episode 8 (the defenders) and tried watching episode 1 (of daredevil season 3) but couldn't because of how devastated I was. So if this is a mess, I'd like to apologize for the mess you read (you did click on it), but if it's good, guess I'm a genius or something.  
> As Mitski says, 'Let me use this pain and exploit it for my money.' But instead of money, it is the viewership of even four other people who loved Elektra and Matt as much as me who hopefully will feel even a semblance of closure or understanding as to what happened in episode 8 (of a reeeeeally bad show lol).  
> I want to write even more of their stories so they are always in my mind (like they should be) and because clearly the show isn't going to give me anything after season 2 (whoooo i have like three stories planned already!!!) but it is early morning times and i want to cry to sleep.  
> I love Elektra Natchios to my very marrow, and I hope this shows that.


End file.
